


Searching the Fields of Elysium

by Angeltrapsanddemonsigils



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angeltrapsanddemonsigils/pseuds/Angeltrapsanddemonsigils
Summary: Achilles waits for Patroclus in the Fields of Elysium.
Relationships: Achilles & Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 200





	Searching the Fields of Elysium

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Madeline Miller's adaptation of Achilles and Patroclus' relationship. If I've gotten anything wrong mythology-wise, my apologies! I hope you enjoy!

Achilles hears the arrow before it pierces him. He turns in just the right way, knowing exactly how the arrow needs to pierce him to end his life and reunite him with Patroclus. With Patroclus’ name clinging to his upturned lips, he falls to the ground, blood pooling around him. The next few moments are agony, as his lungs ache for air and his heart tries valiantly to beat, to save his life. But Achilles deserves it, he thinks. He deserves a few moments of pain, to rival the pain that Patroclus suffered in his last moments. _Dear gods,_ he thinks, _Let us be reunited._

He should have known better than to call on the gods.

One moment, he is in agony, and the next, he is floating. Above himself, above the battlefield. He thinks he can see a shimmering outline of a man above his body, reaching toward him. But between one blink and the next, he is gone. The next time he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a lush, rolling meadow. Sun spills from the sky in rays, pushing through snow white clouds and warming Achilles skin. The grass is greener than he has ever seen, like every blade soaked up as much rain and sun as it could ever possibly need. He sees trees in the distance, and walks to them. It’s a short walk, and his body does not ache as he moves. It’s a fig tree, he realizes as he nears it, and the fruits are perfectly ripe. He picks a fruit for himself, as well as one for Patroclus. He should be here soon. He finds Patroclus’ mothers’ lyre and plays it to pass the time.

Time is a strange thing in the Fields. Achilles is not sure how much time has passed, but surely he should be reunited with his love by now. The shade of the tree does not waver, and the sun does not move, yet Achilles is sure it has been a few hours since he has arrived.

The birds sing perfect melodies that fall in tune with Achilles’ music. _Where is he?_ Achilles wonders. He does not know how long he waits, until he decides to wander the perfect plains.

He feels like he has been walking for days, yet his bones do not ache and his muscles do not grow weary. There is no end to these perfect fields, blossoming with vibrant flowers and the scent of spring. There is no Patroclus in sight, and for possibly the first time in eternity, there is a drop of ugly dread amongst the beauty of the Elysian fields.

_Did I do this?_ Achilles feels dread drip steadily into his stomach, like thick black tar, souring even the brightest day. In sending Patroclus to his death, did he send him to an eternity in the Fields of Mourning? An eternity of wandering, searching for Achilles, for the other half of his broken heart, and never finding him. How, then, are these Elysian fields not the same for Achilles? It is a cruel punishment, to be trapped in such a beautiful place, when he is missing the one person who could make everything else shine brighter than it should. It was true then, as Chiron had said. There is no law that the gods must be fair.

He’s stopped at a small creek, idly skipping stones upstream as Patroclus had taught him in their youth. It is easy to find the flat, smooth stones that dance across the water. The motion is practiced, but instead of finding joy in each skip, Achilles only finds that more time has passed without his Patroclus. He does not know how long it is, for time stretches and compresses like a bellows. One moment may be a month, one month may be a year, a year may be a minute, and so on. All Achilles knows is that it has been too long since he has seen Patroclus.

Does Patroclus hate him? Is Patroclus stuck between worlds? Achilles was sure to give the warrior enough coin to pay Charon. Did something happen and Patroclus was not allowed to come through? The gods had to have known how strong their love was. Would they have them separated as one last cruel act towards Achilles. The Fates had been kind to leave him fame and a legacy, but what about his happiness? He could not both be a hero, and be happy. But he was dead now, and he would be happy if he lived out the rest of eternity in the Meadows of Asphodel, as long as it was with Patroclus.

Achilles is sitting on a small sandbar, just at the mouth of a wide river, when he feels the shift. He has felt when others join this realm, a feeling that touches his soul as another passes through. But this feeling is different. This reaches down into the depths of his soul and _tugs_. His soul sings, and Achilles stands and turns in one swift movement. There, a door behind him with a hand reaching through. Without a second thought, Achilles leaps towards the door and pulls at the hand. There is a slight resistance, but then light bursts forth and there he is.

“Patroclus,” Achilles breathes, the name sweeter on his tongue then it has ever been before. “Patroclus,” he repeats, gathering his lover up in his arms and pressing kisses to every inch of his face. Patroclus simply laughs, still adjusting to the bright, heavenly light of the Fields, and it is the most wonderful Achilles has ever heard. “You’re here. I thought I’d lost you.” He whispers, their foreheads pressed together.

“You’ve brought my mother’s lyre with you.” Patroclus whispers, the hint of a smile in his words. “You know I will follow you anywhere as long as you have it.”

Achilles takes Patroclus by the hand and leads him to the spot he was sitting. There, as they settle on the warm sand, the waves lapping at the shore, Achilles feels as though he has experienced this before, at a much younger age. He turns and looks at Patroclus, the love of his life, the other half of his soul, at his side where he belongs. He turns and catches my eye, a grin tugging at the corner of his lip. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Achilles says in return, leaning forward ever so slightly and pressing his lips to Patroclus’.


End file.
